


Strength, or Something Like It

by argle_fraster



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Gen, M/M, not The After Years compliant, sparring matches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kain and Edward spar outside of Damcyan, and they both learn some lessons about what strength is. </p>
<p>[Chocobo Down Races 2012, August Theme: Rare characters/relationships, Team Ramuh]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strength, or Something Like It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Raphiael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raphiael/gifts).



> For the Chocobo Down Database prompt: Edward&anyone, strength comes in many forms, you're not as weak as you think you are. Just about any pairing or gen is okay, and at any point is fine. I'd really love to see something emphasizing Edward's growth through the games, and learning to move on.

He is used to sparring with his comrades - while training, he had fought with Cecil so often that he could read the other man's actions better than Cecil could himself. When they'd been traveling to the moon, he'd had practice rounds with Edge when they found new weapons and needed to test the balance and weight of them. And he'd engaged Rydia in a few matches after they'd all met in Baron again, for the birth of Ceodore, in a rare chance to avoid letting both of their skills waste away.

But Kain is not used to fighting like this; he is not used to going into a fight so sure of a win that the blow - which knocks the wind right out of his lungs, leaving him gasping in the clay-muddled dirt - makes him dizzy with surprise and confusion.

After a few seconds of gasping in air rather desperately, a head appears over him, blocking the harsh glare of the desert sun. "I would apologize," Edward says, a bit blandly, in a way so strangely neutral that Kain is unable to tell if the man is joking or not, "but my subjects might take that as a sign of weakness, and if I'm being honest, I'm really not sorry at all."

It takes Kain a moment to haul himself back up to his feet. His spear is a few hand spans to his right, knocked free of his grip when the first barrage of gut-wrenching notes had hit his ears.

"How did you do that?" he manages to choke out; his head feels as if it's been rattled, dislodged, and then stuck back on his neck. He's still trying to figure out if he can feel the tips of his fingers, within the gauntlets of his armor.

"If I told you, then I wouldn't be a very good warrior, would I?" Edward replies. He's smiling - his smile looks a bit like Cecil's does, now. Perhaps there is something about ruling a country that changes the way the expression lights one's face.

Kain shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut briefly in hopes that it will correct the blurriness in his vision. It doesn't. "You aren't a warrior."

"I think that's where you're wrong, Dragoon," Edward says. "Warriors come in many shapes and sizes. Not all of us fight with swords; sometimes, it is the other weapons that do far more damage."

He leaves Kain to slink off his bruised ego alone, and doesn't ask if Kain will return the next day to the practice grounds - a spit of desert sands just off Damcyan's rebuilt castle walls that are shaded by the castle turrets in the highest heat of the day.

Kain knows he will go back anyway.

\--

The second time, he's more prepared for the fight, and manages to launch himself into the air with precise, coiled movements before the ear-splitting wail of disharmonious chords knocks him clear out of his projected arc. He's on the sand, a heap of elbows and knees, jaw clenched so tight he's afraid he's rattling his own teeth loose.

"Moons," he spits onto the ground, when the notes don't lessen their hold and his temples are throbbing. It takes only a second for Edward's fingers to stop plucking the strings of his harp and a rather wicked-looking dagger to appear in his hand - and get pressed against Kain's neck, between the thin slabs of his armor's plates.

"You rely on your strength," the other man tells him. He doesn't wait for Kain to acknowledge the victory; he just slides the dagger back into the sheath at his belt that disappears when the line of his cape drapes back over it. He holds a hand out to help Kain up, which Kain grudgingly accepts. "There is more to a battle than simply brute strength."

Kain is angry at being bested twice by a man smaller and less experienced than himself. "When did you become an expert at hand-to-hand combat?" he hisses. "Between the lonely ballads composed by moonlight?"

Edward just smiles wanly at him. He seems to see right through the cutting edges. "I learned many lessons while I was traveling with the others."

"And what would those be?"

"That you are stronger than you think," Edward replies. "That sometimes the best weapon is the ability to catch your opponent off-guard. And that you are your own worst enemy." He leans in, blue eyes bright, and frowns at Kain. "Though, I think maybe you already knew that one."

Kain wants to growl out his annoyances, and only barely bites them back.

It is the second time the king has bested him with a sodding _harp_ , and Kain has no plans to let there be a third.

\--

There is an audience for the third fight, which Kain did not expect but probably should have - stories of his defeat at the bard king's hand have no doubt already circulated the castle. Damcyan's subjects are clamoring to see the next installment of the strange game of cat and mouse they are playing on the practice grounds.

This time, Kain wears only his breastplate and boots over his tunic. Edward seems unconcerned by the change. He shrugs his cape off to the side in a show of similar good faith, and Kain has a clear look at the belt that holds the dagger sheath and the harness for his harp, which he wears slung across his back during travels.

"Ready, then?" Edward calls.

Kain moves, seemingly towards the other man. At the last second he veers, using the keen muscles in his calves, just as Edward is plucking out a few notes on that infernal instrument. Instead of launching himself into the air, Kain uses the momentum to slam his spear in the ground and vault himself around it, making a clean half-arc that deposits him neatly behind Edward's form.

He reaches in. Edward's left hand goes for his dagger.

Kain tugs the man closer and bridges the gap between them, catching Edward so off-guard that his mouth is half-open when Kain's own mouth covers it. The king is so surprised by the move that the chords falling from his harp immediately stop, and the instrument drops to the ground with a heavy, ringing thud.

When Kain pulls away, he's yanked his spear free of the sand and has it poised against Edward's jaw. "I believe this round goes to me."

"What," Edward says, face slack and eyes wide, "are you doing?"

"Do you want to know what lessons I learned while traveling with the others?" Kain asks, as he slides his spear back into the holster across his shoulders. "Never underestimate your opponent by assuming you know everything about him."

Edward stares at him for a long second, and then barks out a laugh. "Is that it?"

"Well," Kain starts, and leans in, so that the crowd pressed around the grounds can't hear, "there might have been other things, but they are of a more _sensitive_ nature."

He leaves before he can see Edward's reaction, but the man does not call out for him to stop, and Kain's reasonably sure he won't be the only one warming his bed that night.


End file.
